


somewhere in these eyes, i'm on your side

by antsu_in_my_pantsu



Category: Among Us (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Among Us (Video Game) Setting, Angst, M/M, One Shot, POV Third Person Omniscient, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antsu_in_my_pantsu/pseuds/antsu_in_my_pantsu
Summary: Dream brought a hand to the side of George’s helmet. George leaned into his touch, feeling kind of pathetic as his face met the cold glass and plastic interior, imagining what it would be like if it was actually Dream’s hand - probably warm and calloused. Real.“You’re the one good thing in this terrible place,” Dream said, his voice soft and low.-Realistic Among Us au in which Technoblade is found dead, Dream’s the main suspect, and George is either stupid or tenacious enough to try to prove his innocence.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 824





	somewhere in these eyes, i'm on your side

**Author's Note:**

> Me, circa early august: don’t worry guys i’m working hard on the cowboy au! It’ll be posted in a month  
> Me, nearly 2 months later, no cowboy au part 3: want a realistic among us au…?
> 
> The title is from Space Song by Beach House, which I looped on repeat while writing this. It’s also one of my all time favorite songs! 
> 
> Enjoy :)

“So, it was Dream,”

“Bullshit,”

The white sharpie smiley drawn on Dream’s visor stared squarely at George, intense yet unreadable. George had interjected before Dream himself got the chance. 

George hated how small he felt in that moment, clammy inside his own skin as the seven solemn faces of his crewmates accosted him, expecting him to make some grand rebuttal. It didn’t help that the fluorescent lighting combined with the sterile smell of the facility were an assault on the senses, it was all too bright and noxious. 

Tommy raised an eyebrow, “Yeah?”

“Dream didn’t kill Techno, and I can prove it,” George asserted again, his hands balling into fists on the table, grasping for  _ something _ . Dream watched helplessly, unable to find the words to prove he’s innocent. If he spoke he might start screaming or sobbing, he didn't know which would be worse. 

“You and what evidence?” Tommy retaliated.

“I could ask the same to you,”

Tommy rolled his eyes melodramatically, “Dream’s the only one who was in the Reactor when Techno died, he was acting suspicious the entirety of last round, he’s still wearing his helmet for no good reason, and he certainly doesn’t seem to be in any rush to defend himself - need I go on?”

As much as George hated to admit it, it was true. The fact that Dream was still helmeted didn’t help George’s case that Dream stuck out like a sore thumb, the only one out of the seven of them still wearing his cover his face during the discussion. He had shown his face openly last round, too, but for some reason he thought  _ now  _ would be the best time to demonstrate how quirky he could be. And his silence was deafening, a sharp juxtaposition to his talkative, borderline loquacious self from previous rounds. 

“If Dream did it, then why isn’t he the one covered in blood?” George countered fiercely, gesturing to the small spatters of crusted blood on Tommy's suit. He wasn’t about to let Dream die, not when they were stuck in some sort of perpetual Roman Holiday. 

“I reported the body! You know that you have to do that through the  _ victim’s _ watch, right?” Tommy snapped, absentmindedly picking the blood. He sounded far more sober, more quiet as he said, "I had to touch Techno's corpse, y'know,"

At that, Tubbo interjected, “Tommy, what state was Techno in when he died? Like, is it obvious what the murder weapon was?”

Tommy’s lips pursed into a thin line, and he looked rather distant for a moment, “There was a knife sticking out of his neck,” - He paused - “Still, I think the knife was thrown. The wound wasn’t very deep, it was just the jugular… Dream has a strong arm and good aim, though,”

“That seems a little convenient for your case, doesn’t it?” Fundy muttered, earning a contemptuous glare from Tommy. 

Phil’s head turned towards the ginger sharply, “If you’ve got something you want to say, then say it,” 

Fundy threw his hands up in defense, “Am I the only one who thinks it’s suspicious that Tommy is so eager to accuse Dream? Especially considering he’s the one covered in blood, and he seems to know pretty damn well how Techno died,”

George slammed a hand on the table, and with a bit too much vim and all too loud, “Besides, Tommy was the one who reported the body! He was the only one there at the scene of the crime, it’s only fair that we vote for -”

“It wasn’t Tommy,” Wilbur interposed stiffly, his jaw locked. He spoke firmly, stern and unwavering. The words sat in the air like a hanged man for a moment, nobody daring to touch the cadaver. Nobody dared to challenge Wilbur. 

“How could I be the imposter?” Tommy said innocently, sweetly, but his eyes flashed darkly, “I’m only a  child, aren't I? ”

George felt homicidal at that. “You can’t - you - you - Wilbur, you’re just letting him off the hook because you’re friends with him! You can’t just excuse people because you like them more,”

Fundy barked a laugh, “As if you’re one to talk, George,” 

“What’s that supposed to mean-?” 

“So Dream is the only remaining suspect?” Phil interrupted impatiently.

“Bullshit!” George cried out, fervor bubbling under his skin.

“You can’t just curse and whine like a bitch and expect us to believe you, George,” Wilbur sibilated, contempt soaking his tone, “Dream’s been silent the whole time while you’re blathering on his behalf, and you haven't even made a real arguement yet. That speaks for itself,”

Dream opened his mouth to speak, but the words dissipated before they could even properly form, silently falling like granules of sand between his teeth. He stayed silent behind his helmet. 

_ I promise I’ll get you out of this _ , George silently communicated, staring at his visor and nodding to Dream ever-so slightly.  _ I won’t let you die.  _

“I mean, we all have solid alibis,” Tubbo fidgeted with his hands awkwardly, not making eye contact as he said, “Fundy and I were in shields. Phil and Wilbur were in the medbay. George, Dream, and Tommy are the only ones who were alone...”

Fundy raised a brow, having the audacity to look bored, “So it could’ve been George as well?”

The words spike through George, sending an electric shock down his spine. Dream perked up at that immediately, but before he could even get a word in, George was already rambling and tripping over his words.

“I was with Dream in electrical just minutes before Techno’s body was reported. Nobody was around, just him and me. If Dream was an imposter, it would’ve been easier for him to pick me off right then and there. I was completely helpless,” George paused to catch his breath, not realizing how faint he felt. Clumsily, he added, “If Dream could’ve killed me, he would’ve. Tommy’s the imposter,”

As if,” Tommy scoffed, ire flickering in his tone, “I think all know Dream wouldn’t lay a finger on you, of all people,”

The two locked eyes with each other from across the table. God, they were morons, acting like flustered teenagers when one of their friends was slaughtered, and his murderer sat among them. They silently scolded themselves for their idiocy. 

“George wasn’t alone with Dream the entire time, though,” Tubbo interjected, “During the reactor meltdown, Fundy and I saw George in storage, and Dream wasn’t with him,”

A sick sort of satisfaction spread across Tommy’s features, “Is that so, Tubbo?”

George’s blood ran cold at that. Dream swallowed hard. It wasn’t outwardly apparent, but George memorized Dream’s mannerisms, and upon further inspection it became blatantly apparent that he was slipping. He was fidgeting with his hands, his feet were shuffling under the table. George had no doubt he was probably chewing away at the inside of his mouth, maybe hard enough to draw blood.

He faced George dead-on, silently pleading,  _ please don’t let them kill me. _

“Now that you mention it, that is a little odd,” Fundy chimed in, “Dream wasn’t with George when we were all in storage,”

“Dream was going to fix the Reactor,” George snapped, voice dangerously still, “Besides, where was Tommy during all this?” 

Tommy’s eyes widened, ever so slightly, then he sneered, “I was in admin, no where  _ near  _ the murder,” 

“What did you even need to do in Admin?” Fundy questioned, cocking his head to one side, “You swiped your card right when we arrived here, and there wasn’t an oxygen problem,”

“I - I don’t,” Tommy’s eyes frantically scanned the room, six hardened faces staring back, “I don’t know what you’re implying,”

“I’m not  _ implying _ anything, I’m telling you, right now, that I think you’re lying. There’s no way you were in Admin when Techno died,” Fundy replied bluntly.

George had to force the smile off his face, suppressing the wave relief that inundated him now that the tides were turning. Tommy was caught in the lie, a fish out of water floundering, grasping at straws to explain himself. 

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, before relenting, “Fine. I was in the Reactor-”

“Reactor?” George interrupted giddily, barely able to contain his ebullience, “That’s right next to the lower engine, where Techno died,”

“I know that dumbass. But there was also a goddamn reactor meltdown, and I was the only one who had the gall to haul ass and fix it. Besides I had to do tasks in that area anyway,” Tommy hissed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, “I just-”

“Lied?” George couldn’t help but grin, “To make yourself look less guilty?”

Wilbur’s face was outwardly stony, but he couldn’t meet Tommy’s eye. Fundy looked vaguely amused, if not a bit surprised. Phil and Tubbo shared similar grimaces of surprise and betrayal. 

Fundy’s ears twitched restlessly. “So we’re voting out Tommy?” 

“Well, let’s not be hasty,” Tubbo countered, “Tommy may have lied this round, but Dream’s been shifty this entire game. Remember last time, after Niki died, and we almost voted out Dream, but decided against it because there wasn’t enough evidence? Not to mention, Dream was defending the hell out of Sapnap-”

Dream straightened in his chair, shoulders tense. George caught on, protesting, “He was Dream’s best friend-!”

“And the imposter,” Wilbur said quietly, resolutely. 

The air in the room shifted, as all seven of them began to reconsider. 

“I was unlocking the Manifolds, you have to believe me,” Tommy borderline begged, voice oozing with genuinity, “Besides, you guys have seen me doing my tasks this entire time! Dream’s been suspect, constantly walking aimlessly, peaking into rooms only to leave again”

Phil added, “He’s been more consistently suspicious the entire time we’ve been stuck here,”

“And why would  _ I  _ kill Techno?” Tommy said, “Dream’s always hated him - they got into a fight the first day we arrived, this could’ve just been his sick way of getting revenge,”

Tubbo grimaced, “That is true…”

George balked at that, “You guys are just believing Tommy? He’s toying with your emotions, clearly. Tommy’s been the skittish one, he’s covered in blood, he lied about where he was when Techno died, and he’s been accusing Dream the entire time!”

“Yeah, because I want the bastard gone! He’s an imposter and a killer, and I know because I saw him! I saw him when he… when he killed Techno,” Tommy’s voice cracked on the last part, hands balling into fists against the table, “If Dream’s so innocent, why doesn’t he say as much, instead of having his own, personal arbiter do all the talking?”

George stood with a start, his chair scraping against the floor. He didn’t know what his plan was, there was no way he was about to punch a kid, but he sure as well wanted to. Wilbur grabbed George’s wrist, urging him to sit back down. He obeyed the silent command, seething so blatantly his contempt was nearly palpable. 

“What’s the worst case scenario if we vote out Dream?” Phil reasoned, “We’ll do tasks as a group, and if Tommy’s acting suspicious, we’ll call an emergency meeting and…” - He threw Tommy an apologetic glance - “Voting out Dream is the best option for now,”

“And you’d be executing an innocent man!” George cried out, resisting the urge to punch everyone in the room, because _what the hell?_ , “What’s wrong with you sick bastards? Is this just some - some kind of game to you? Would his death mean nothing to you people?"

Tubbo lightly started, “We’re all hurting, George,” before Wilbur interrupted him, his eyes like daggers and voice like venom. 

“George, Shut the fuck up,” He barked, “You have no right to high-road us about what it’s like to lose someone. Techno was one of my best friends, and Niki…”

Wilbur trailed off and averted his gaze from the others in the room, but the message was clear. The air in was tense. 

“I’m not letting you guys vote out Tommy,” Wilbur declared, his resolve palpable, “They're equally suspicious. We’ll vote Dream for now, then do what Phil said. Just for safety,”

George shook his head numbly, “Please don’t do this. Please,”

“Give me a reason, George,” Wilbur deadpanned, “Give me one good reason we shouldn’t vote for Dream. Or, of course, if Dream himself wanted to argue for himself, for once…”

All six of them stared at Dream, but he was looking at George, the two of them sharing a look of mutual recognition, of mourning - the former, his best friend’s life, and the latter, his own.

_ I’m sorry I couldn’t save you _ , George wanted to say, to cry it from the rooftops. Dream seemed to understand though. 

With an eye roll and the dismissive wave of his hand, Tommy mumbled, “Can we vote already?

_ This is it, huh? _ George thought to himself, wrought with disbelief.

Only half an hour ago, Dream and George had felt so carefree. Sapnap’s ejection took a toll on them both, especially considering he ultimately  _ was  _ the imposter. George hated to admit it, but maybe Sapnap deserved it. He was being reckless and got caught killing Niki, it was a brutal murder. Senseless. 

Despite all of their suffering, in that one moment just a short thirty minutes ago, there was hope, an idiotic, hapless sliver to which Dream and George had clung, desperately. George replayed the conversation in his mind, the world around him moving in slow motion as his comrades tapped away at their tablets, voting for the death of his best friend.

It was the last exchange George would ever get to have with Dream again, he realized, caught somewhere between wanting to laugh at his past self’s ignorance and cry at how utterly screwed he was. 

Still, he couldn’t pry the flashes of memories out of his mind. 

_ Dream was lazily leaning against the wall, his shoulder cocked upwards, his helmeted head pointed squarely at George, who was fumbling away with a set of dials and knobs. He couldn’t focus, despite how facile his task was. He was still thinking about how they held hands on the way to electrical, the way Dream’s hand enveloped his, how he felt warm through the plastic fibers of his suit.  _

_ Thank you for coming with me,” George said clumsily, grateful for his helmet’s dark visor covering his blush. _

_ “Of course,” Dream replied, laughing nervously, “It’s dangerous out here, y’know? We need to stick together,” _

_ “Still. Niki and Wilbur were in the same room when Sapnap…” George trailed off, the words getting caught behind his teeth, “The imposters… they just want to kill people, don’t they? They don’t care if they get caught as long as someone else dies,” _

_ “They’re monsters,”  _

_ George finished fiddling with the knobs, and turned his attention to the wires, the ends of them jagged and crackling with electricity. Dream watched as George struggled to complete the simple task, flinching as the wires spit sparks about him when he accidentally connected the yellow and green ends together. The dimly lit room illuminated briefly as the sparks flickered, reflecting in both of their visors.  _

_ “Do you think you could give this one a try?” George asked, gesturing to the wires on hand.  _

_ Dream buried his hands in his pockets, “No can do. I’m really clumsy. I spent, like, ten minutes trying to swipe my card in Admin earlier. I’d probably electrocute us both if I even tried,”  _

_ “Fair enough,” George squinted, struggling to discern the pink from the red wires, “Could you tell me which colors are which, though?” _

_ A pause.“Sure,” A muffled giggle came from inside his helmet, “You know what they call me, ol’ Dreamy Trusty,” _

_ George rolled his eyes despite the fact Dream wouldn’t see it, smiling wide, “We both know nobody calls you that, idiot,” _

_ The two shared a laugh, something they hadn’t done much the past few days on the ship. It was a temporary reprieve, a weight lifted off their chests for a split second.  _

_ Dream shifted closer to George, his comparatively larger stature towering over the other man. He placed a hand on George’s shoulder, large against his small frame. It was a seemingly innocuous action, but it sent the both of them reeling. _

_ ‘I’m hopeless, aren’t I?’ George thought bitterly.  _

_ Dream pointed to the wires as he spoke, listing off the colors of the right and left sides respectively. George connected them easily after that, his fingers flying over the box rather quickly. Dream didn’t remove his hand until George turned to face him.  _

_ “That was my last task. Do you have any more? I’ll come with,” _

_ “I've done all of mine," _

_ George cocked his head, “Really? You’re fast,” _

_ “Maybe you’re just slow,” _

_ “Whatever,” George shut the door to the electrical box, cringing at the hinges’ loud squeaking, “I guess we should just say here for the time being,” _

_ “And hide,” Dream added somberly. _

_ They stood there, leaning against the wall for a moment, enveloped in darkness, save for the harsh fluorescent lights streaming in from the hallway and the dim, buggy lights overhead. _

_ Out of nowhere, breaking the silence like the surface tension of water, Dream remarked, “I wish we didn’t have to wear these stupid helmets outside of the cafeteria,” _

_ “Why?” George simpered, nudging Dream with his elbow, “Do you miss seeing my face that much?”  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “Yes, actually,”

_ George stilled involuntarily, like an animal caught in a trap. He looked at Dream, their two helmets blankly pointed towards the other. He would’ve given anything to see his face at that moment.  _

_ “George, can I tell you something?” _

_ His stomach plummeted, a mixture of exhilaration and petrification setting his nerves alight. He wasn’t sure if he could handle any more news, not after two of his friends died, not until things were back to normal. “Tell me after the experiment,” _

_ “It’s important,”  _

_ “Even more reason to wait,” George replied, a crooked grin finding its way onto his face. He wished Dream could see it, “Tell me when we’re out of here. When we win,” _

_ “But what if…” The rest was implied. Dream looked away, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly.  _

_ “You shouldn’t think like that,” George avered, and moving before he could think, he took Dream’s gloved hand into his own.  _

_ “You’re right,” Dream nodded slightly, “I’ll tell you back on Earth, the first night we get back,” _

_ “Night?” _

_ “I want to be watching stars when I tell you," _

_ “Sounds special,”  _

_ “It will be,”Dream gripped his hand firmly, “But until that moment, I won’t let anything happen to you. Promise,” _

_ George wanted to say something back, to assure he would do the same, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak, especially considering he could hardly breathe. Trembling, he placed his other hand on the back of Dream’s neck, pushing his head down gently. He touched the foreheads of their helmets together, metal on metal. For a moment, they stood like that - their hands intertwined, faces so impossibly close, yet barricaded from one another.  _

_ Dream brought a hand to the side of George’s helmet. George leaned into his touch, feeling kind of pathetic as his face met the cold glass and plastic interior, imagining what it would be like if it was Dream’s hand - probably warm, but calloused. Real.  _

_ “You’re the one good thing in this terrible place,” Dream said, his voice soft and low.  _

_ Vague, rushed words sounded from down the hall followed by a series of erratic, heavy footsteps. Both men’s watches simultaneously vibrated, jolting them out of their moment. George’s watch read: Reactor Meltdown in five minutes. Funny. He had never experienced one of those before.  _

_ “What should we do?” George hissed, his heart thundering in his chest. He idly wondered if Dream could hear it, “Do you think we’re going to die here?” _

_ “No, of course not,” Dream clasped George’s hands with both of his own, “You should leave. We’re cornered in here, and this is going to become a high-traffic area because of the meltdown. The imposter’s going to use this to his advantage. Not to mention, the vent in the corner…” _

_ “Imposters can travel through vents?” _

_ Dream brushed off his question, “You shouldn’t wait this out,” _

_ “Then what’s the alternative?” _

_ “Find the others,” Dream guided George to the entrance, thumbing over the back of his clothed hand in a comforting way. Against all odds, it worked, George felt a bit better, “You should go to the cafeteria. You can’t call a meeting, but it’s a more open space, and sound echoes like crazy in there, so I doubt anything would happen,”  _

_ “Dream?” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ His words were cut off by the sound of a blaring alarm, metal clanging, and heavy footsteps down the hall. Already ushering him out the door, Dream urged George, “Go! Get out of here,” _

_ George looked back, “What about you?” _

_ “I’m going to fix the reactor,” _

_ “That’s suicide. You can't possibly believe you'll be able to,” _

_ “We’re about to find out,” Dream shrugged, but George noticed his hands were quivering at his sides, “Everything will be fine,” _

_ Somehow, they both knew that wasn’t true. But it didn’t stop George from sprinting as fast his legs would take him down the long hallway to the storage room, only stopping once his back was pressed to the wall. He desperately gulped air into his aching lungs as quietly as possible, not sure if it’d be worse if he or Dream were alone with the imposter. _

_ Lost in his anxieties, he hardly even registered that Tubbo and Fundy had just joined him, looking just as confounded as him. George glanced back down the hallway, Dream wasn’t there.  _

_ A cold deluge of dread flooded his bloodstream as his watch vibrated. He felt the urge to claw it off. The alarm sounded overhead. Maybe nobody had to die this time, maybe it was just an emergency meeting. George should’ve known better than to indulge his wishful thinking. _

_ As though watching himself in third person, George checked the screen, already knowing what was going to be staring back at him. _

_ Red, flashing words read: dead body reported.  _

_ His first thought was _ , ‘ _ Please, anyone but Dream.’  _

_ Fundy and Tubbo paled, looking at each other and George aimlessly, but what was there to say? Someone died, that’s what happened on the ship. Their lives were nothing more than numbers on a lab report or an entry in a data table.  _

_ The remaining seven of them made their way back to the cafeteria, knowing what would become of them if they didn’t cooperate. George sat down with shaking legs, his six remaining comrades looking equally as shaken, Tommy especially. George felt a rush of relief, however, when Dream clamored in, helmet still on, and took his seat last.  _

_ The seven of them stared at one another in uncomfortable, tense silence.  _

_ Tommy cleared his throat. “So, it was Dream,” _

George came out of his memory like resurfacing from a body of cold water. He felt heavy and numb, halfway between wanting to cry and slam his head on the table. The air was still, everyone’s mouths shut tightly, their faces solemn. There was only a few seconds left to vote. Shakily, George brought his finger to his watch’s face, tapping his screen a few times before submitting his vote. 

Dream’s reaction to the results was inscrutable - he merely lowered his watch, folded his hands at the table, and peered at George. Tommy was grinning like a madman. Tubbo covered his face with his hands, Fundy muttered something under his breath, and George wasn’t sure what was happening was real. He felt like he was watching himself from third person.. 

All but two of the crewmates voted for Dream, who voted for Tommy. George voted for himself. 

George wanted to shout it at the top of his voice,  _ he’s innocent, I know he was innocent,  _ He couldn’t find the words, all he could do was stare as his screen inanely, unable to comprehend the fact that five out of seven people, seventy-one percent of his crewmates voted for Dream

The room in the air was tense. They all knew what they had to do. 

With a resigned sigh, Wilbur stood slowly, Phil followed suit. Dream stood up from his chair sharply, the metal painfully scraping across the aluminum floor. His arms were raised in defense. 

With a jerky motion, he tore off his helmet and faced George, desperation and anguish written on his features. George had seen his face before, but never when it looked like  _ that _ . In that moment, Dream looked impossibly small, with his arms raised in front of him in defense as Phil and Wilbur struggled to get a hold on him. Dream was thrashing violently, his vision was blurring, but maybe that was a blessing so he didn’t have to see George’s agonized face. 

“You can do whatever you want with me, you can hurt me, you can kill me,” Dream attempted to reason, managing to slip one arm loose before Wilbur snatched his wrist again, nails digging into the fabric of his suit, “Please give me a minute with George, just one minute,  _ please _ , I need to tell him something,”

Wilbur grabbed a fistful of Dream’s hair, his nails digging into his scalp hard enough to draw blood as he seethed, “Beg all you want, you’re not getting jack shit,”

“You don’t deserve to speak,” Tommy rebuked, trailing behind Dream as he was carted away, lamb to the slaughter, 

Phil chuckled - _ the sick bastard’s laughing? -  _ before remarking, “Good thing sound doesn’t travel in space,”

Something about that set George into motion. He jumped to his feet, scrambling to Dream, utterly desperate. He slammed his full weight into Phil, and despite his lithe stature, his force alone sent the other man stumbling. Wilbur stood dumbfounded, and in a flash of animalistic desperation, George shoved him hard, hard enough to get him off of Dream for a few seconds. 

Dream looked up at George with glassy eyes, almost infantile, and George dropped to his knees immediately. Dream scrambled to twine his arms around George’s waist, and George wrapped his arms over Dream’s shoulders, convinced that if he held on hard enough, he could still save him. 

For a moment, they were in paradise, lost in each other’s warmth, embracing each other desperately. For the smallest fraction of a second, they allowed themselves to forget who and where they were. If they closed their eyes hard enough and choked down their tears, they could pretend they were back home on Earth, under the stars like Dream promised. 

Dream caught George’s face in his shaking hands, and brought his forehead to the other man’s, “George,” Dream let out a sob, his words quiet enough for only George to hear, “I l-”

Their embrace was torn apart, only a mere few seconds, the ephemeral moment over all too quickly, and all too violently. Phil dragged George off of Dream, flung a few feet over like he was weightless, nothing, his body hitting the ground hard. Distantly, something cracked, maybe a rib or a vertebrae.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Dream barked, struggling to fend off three assailants at once, “It’s me you want, leave George out of this!”

George was on his feet in a matter of seconds, dread sparking down his spine as Dream was kicked hard in the chest by Tommy, his chest drawing ragged breaths as Wilbur and Phil shoved him into the ejection chamber. Dream stumbled to his hands and knees, barely registering what was happening, his mind blanketed in fog and eyes bleary. He jerked his head towards the door. 

Wilbur placed a hand on the large, steel door, “Dream, will you say hi to Sapnap for me?” 

Dream jolted to his feet, fueled by adrenaline rushing towards the door before colliding with the cold steel as it slammed shut. Distantly, a counter for one minute started. 

George’s body moved before his mind as he sprinted to the door, peering through the small window and pressing his hands against it. Dream looked back from the other side, leaning against the door for support as his legs trembled beneath him.

“George!  _ George _ !” Dream pounded his hands into the thick glass, his voice already raw from screaming so loudly. The way George looked at him broke him, all pitying and mourning as if he was already dead, “I love you, I love you so much,”

Dream knew he must’ve looked like a disaster right then, with his face red and blotchy, streaked with tears, saliva dripping down the corners of his mouth - he was salivating like a feral animal from the torrent of nausea that overtook him. George wasn’t doing much better, his shoulder shaking violently, barely able to keep himself from fainting by leaning on the steel door - so impossibly close, yet miles away. 

Dream knew it, knew he was trapped, but he couldn’t even gnaw his leg off in hopes of escaping. All he could do was scream and cry - a pathetic way to die, really, but maybe Dream didn’t deserve the grandeur, the spectacle of a beautiful death.

“I love you so much, George, and I’m sorry that it had to be like this,”

“Dream?” George’s voice came quietly, so incredibly muffled despite the fact that he was clearly shouting at the top of his voice too. The other crewmates flinched at the volume, yet he was almost inaudible to Dream. That meant that Dream was inaudible to him. George couldn’t hear him or his desperate pleas. 

Dream slammed his fists on the glass again, a futile effort, the knuckles in his bones crunching on contact. Distantly, he knew he should be feeling pain, but he was numb, like his whole body was buzzing with static. The turning of mechanisms in the room around him, the red alarm lights flashing overhead - it felt like he was experiencing it submerged under water. 

“I love you George!” Dream hollered, punctuating his desperate cry with a whimper. This throat was constricting, vocal cords tightening, and his breaths growing more shallow and rapid. He tasted blood in the back of his throat, choking him.

George looked confused, then panicked as a countdown sounded overhead. Dream was about to be sent into the cold vacuum of space in ten seconds. An absurd thought. Still, Dream clung to his idiotic, desperate hope that maybe George could hear him or read his lips, so with empty lungs and a bloody mouth he yelled the words again, “I love you!”

Wilbur had side stepped in front of the small window, completely blocking George from view. He hadn’t seen Dream, and there were ten seconds left on the countdown. 

Over Wilbur’s shoulder, Dream barely managed to see Phil ushering George away,  _ five seconds _ , then crumpled to the ground as George swung at him with force Dream didn’t know he could muster.  _ Three seconds _ , he managed to shove Wilbur to the side and plaster himself against the window. He pressed his hands against the glass, against Dream’s hand, the phantom warmth washing over Dream. 

_ One second _ . 

“I love you,” Dream barely managed to whisper, his lips quivering into a small smile as he was embraced by the cold tendrils of the void. 

George watched helplessly as Dream’s body went rigid, arms still outstretched as he shrank further and further into the distance. He looked terrible, his face contorting into a horrified expression, eyes wide and jaws ripped open when the doors first opened, then he was whisked away in a flash. George blinked, but the split-second image was burned into his retinas. Dream was already fading so quickly from the ship, absorbed into the vast expanse of nothingness. Their life back on Earth, their night beneath the stars - it was all slipping away from George, like sand between his fingers. 

Maybe this was for the best. Dream had always loved the stars. 

George still wished he found out what Dream was trying to tell him. 

After a long beat, Wilbur spoke, his voice low but hardly funereal, “I didn’t want you to see that,” 

“Don’t feel  too bad for him,” Phil murmured, assuming George couldn’t hear him, “He was going to kill Tommy to save his _boyfriend_ ,”

He said the word mockingly, as if the prospect of George loving Dream was something absurd, and not the blatantly apparent truth. George didn’t respond, because how could he? He stood there, with his hands pressed to the glass, convinced that maybe if he tried hard enough, he could experience the sensation of Dream’s hand in his, just one last time. He couldn’t even see Dream’s corpse anymore, it was just another piece of discarded garbage out in the atmosphere. 

“You’re fucking monsters,” George whispered, “All of you,”

George’s heart and chest and body and stomach - everything, all of it hurt. There was nothing else to do, though. He just had to stand there and take it, with his head on the window and his body weighing heavily on his feet. He hoped he would never come down from the high of disbelief. If he had to acknowledge that all of  _ this _ was real that’d be far worse, but denial was far more comfortable to make a home in. 

“George,” A voice, Tubbo’s, said distantly. It felt like lightyears away, “You might want to see this,”

“He was innocent, wasn’t he?” George sounded vacant, “And you killed him anyway,”

He forced his head to move in the others’ general direction, the gesture stiff and mechanical like an automaton’s. The rest of the crewmates were staring at the screen just over his head, their faces ranged from satisfaction to horror to confusion. Tommy was grinning especially wide, dripping with hubris as his eyes swept over the screen. George felt sick.

_ Dream was an Imposter.  _

_ No Imposters Remain.  _

Bile burned the back of George’s throat as text flashed in front of him, he read the words but he couldn’t understand them. His crewmates, his comrades were whooping and hollering with glee, distantly, and why wouldn’t they? The experiment was over, they managed to escape with only four deaths. George still couldn’t conceive of a reason to be happy, not when Dream wasn’t there with him. He felt like he was stuck in a half-lucid nightmare, able to perceive but not comprehend, until seven letters in a bold green invaded the screen. It was some kind of sick joke, it had to be, but there was nothing funny about it.

_ Victory.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Lmaooo tbh I am not the biggest fan of this fic, I think it’s way too edgy for its own good and it wasn’t particularly well thought-out (I wrote this off the cuff without an outline) or well written but hey, I wanted to post something. Sorry if it feels lower quality than usual though!
> 
> I'm still so obsessed with the idea of realistic Among Us, and writing this fic only affirmed that. It’s probably because I used to be a danganronpa fan, and my favorite ship was kaemugi. I guess I’m just a firm believer in the homoeroticism of killing games. 
> 
> That being said, I might write more for realistic Among Us! being said, I have an idea for a fic where George and Dream are both the imposters or I might write a fic where Dream has to kill George to win, who knows, really? Until then I’m going to force myself to work on cb au part 3, once again, apologies for the lateness :) I do have 10k+ words written of it though, so don’t worry!
> 
> Until then, kudos are appreciated, maybe even a comment if you have a crumb of validation to spare? And if you want to jabber at me some more, my tumblr is @wormweeb !


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